Fic: Almost Out of Minutes
Oct. 9th, 2018 01:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Almost Out of Minutes
Category: Gen, comedy
Characters: Castiel, OC
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,522
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Castiel buys his first cell phone. From the perspective of the cell store employee.
A/N: Set around the beginning of season 5. The title, of course, comes from S5E4, "The End," in what is (I believe) the first time we see Cas with a cell phone, and he tells Dean that "the voice says I'm almost out of minutes."
Read on AO3
***
It was a Wednesday afternoon. I had four hours left in my shift, and the store was dead. I had already dusted twice and rearranged the new phone displays three times. Every piece of merchandise was in its proper place; everything was perfectly stocked. I was going out of my mind with boredom.
Then, he walked in. Six feet tall with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a trenchcoat over a full suit despite the warm September day.
Usually I hate the weekday shift, but occasionally, it has its perks.
The man paused just a couple steps inside the doorway and looked around, his expression serious and slightly confused. Behind him, my co-worker was trying to come back into the store from her lunch break and had to sidle in through the barely-open door to avoid hitting him with it. He didn’t seem to notice.
I approached him with my best customer service smile, considerably more sincere than usual (well, he was hot).
“Hi there, is there anything I can help you with?” I said brightly.
“Yes,” he said. “I need a cell phone. There are people I have to be able to talk to.”
Odd, but I’d heard odder. “Sure thing!” I said. “What did you have in mind?”
He looked around again, appearing to be at a total loss.
“Did you want to sign up for a plan, or – ”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “I like to have a plan.”
I chuckled dutifully. “Don’t we all! Okay, follow me. I’ll get your information, and then we can pick out a phone for you.”
He followed me to a computer, and I pulled up the new contract form. “Okay. Name?”
“Castiel.”
I blinked, but decided it was a better idea not to comment. “Can you spell that for me?” He did, and I typed it into the computer. “Great. Last name?”
“Oh,” he said. “Um…one minute.” He searched through his pockets before finally pulling out what looked like a driver’s license. He stared at it for a long moment.
“It says ‘Castiel Plant,’” he said finally.
This was getting weirder, but, at least he was polite. I typed in the last name.
“Do you have a land line?”
Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Is that…related somehow to ley lines?”
Oh, boy. “I’m going to mark it down that you have no other phone number,” I said cheerfully. “Can I have your Social?”
“My what?”
“Your…Social Security Number.”
He blinked at me. “How can you place a numerical value on the security level of a society?”
I decided to assume that he was from another country. Perhaps English was his second language, too, although he didn’t have any trace of an accent. “We can skip that one. Address?”
Castiel looked down at the license again. “123 Heaven Boulevard,” he read.
I paused. “May I see your ID?” I asked. He handed it to me, and I examined it. It was a fake. A damn good fake, but a fake nonetheless. I’d had a fake ID in high school, and I knew the signs. I weighed my options. Was he just a really, really clueless criminal? I didn’t really want to be involved in this, but I needed the sale.
I made up my mind and handed his license back to him. “Mr. Plant – ”
“Please,” he interrupted. “Call me Castiel.”
“Castiel,” I said. “May I offer you some advice?”
“I’d appreciate it,” he said, looking relieved.
“I think what you might like is a burner phone.” We were absolutely not supposed to refer to them that way, but I hoped it might help.
It didn’t. He looked more confused. “Why would I burn a phone?” he said. “Or, is it the phone which burns things?”
“Neither,” I said patiently. “It’s just another name for a phone with prepaid minutes. You buy it and it works for as long as your minutes last. When you run out, you can reload, or buy a new phone with more minutes. You don’t have to worry about paying a contract every month.”
Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Please give me a burning phone.”
I deciding not to quibble about vocabulary and led him over to the prepaid phones. There were five different options, and he looked at them anxiously.
“Can I have a minute to decide?” he asked.
“Of course,” I assured him. “Take all the time you need.”
I went back to the computer and pretended to work while watching him out of the corner of my eye. He touched three of the phones in quick succession with a fingertip, shaking his head almost immediately after each one. Then he picked up the last two, which were nearly identical, and for – I shit you not – fifteen minutes, he looked slowly back and forth between them. I finally gave up trying to be subtle and just stared at him, mouth agape. He seemed completely oblivious to my scrutiny, anyway.
“Is he very stoned?” asked my co-worker, who had noticed the proceedings around the seven minute mark and come to watch with me.
“I don’t know what he is,” I replied.
Finally, Castiel put down one of the phones and started to walk towards me. Unfortunately, the phone was a model and was connected by a cord to the display case. His arm jerked back when the cord was fully extended, and he looked at me with a panicky expression.
“Help,” he said. I quickly walked to him, customer service smile back in place.
“You decided? Great! Let me get you one,” I said, gently taking the display phone from his hand. He let it go a little reluctantly.
“I had that one,” he said.
“That’s for display only,” I said. “I’ll get you a new one.” He nodded, but looked disappointed.
I fetched the phone and rang it up. When I told Castiel his total, he began slowly removing a series of twenties from different pockets. The bills were crumpled into individual balls, and he placed them carefully on the counter. He tried to keep going after he’d put enough down, but I stopped him and began smoothing the bills out.
“Do you need some help setting it up?” I asked, after I’d given him his change. It was protocol to ask, but, vaguely unnerving though this encounter had been, I felt bad for Castiel, who seemed very confused by everything that was going on, and I wanted to be sure he had a handle on this. He looked down at the phone and nodded quickly, handing it back to me.
It was only a couple steps to get the phone activated and set up. I gave him a quick tutorial, which – thankfully – he seemed to understand.
“Do you have any numbers you want to save?” I asked.
Castiel’s forehead creased.
“We put them in your address book, and then you can call them up quickly, without having to type in the whole number manually every time,” I explained. I really, really wanted to make sure he could get help if he needed it.
“Yes, that would be good,” he said. He pulled out an old receipt from a diner and handed it to me. On the back, someone had scribbled “Dean” with three numbers under it, and “Sam” with two numbers. Yeah, not weird at all. I programmed the numbers in quickly.
“Okay, now we just need to set up your voicemail.”
“Voicemail?”
“So if you don’t answer your phone, someone can leave you a message,” I said. Jesus, was he from Mars?
“Oh.” He nodded. “Yes.”
I decided not to even ask if he wanted to record a full one, and set up the kind which goes “You have reached the voicemail box of…”
“Now,” I said, turning the phone to speaker. “When it beeps, just say your name.”
The phone beeped. “I don’t understand why,” Castiel said. “Why do you want me to say my name?”
Good enough. Surely anyone who had his number would get the picture. He reached out and pressed a few buttons and I hastily pulled the phone away. I saved the message.
“All set,” I said cheerfully, handing him the phone. “Here you go.”
Castiel looked at the phone, then back at me. “Thank you,” he said gravely. He touched my hand lightly with his fingertips and leaned over the counter towards me, looking deep into my eyes. “The insecurities you feel in your heart at times are unwarranted. You are a kind and beautiful soul.” And, I swear on my life, the dude vanished. Right before my eyes. He didn’t walk out the door, he was just suddenly gone. And I thought I heard the beating of wings.
My co-worker, of course, came out of the back room about two seconds after Castiel’s disappearing act. “Where’s tall, dark, and crazy?” she asked cheerfully.
“Gone,” I mumbled, blinking rapidly. “Also, I might have just had a stroke.”
“Uh…”
I shook my head. “Kidding.” At least, I hoped I was. I grabbed my cigarettes from under the counter. “I’m taking a break.”
I’d earned it.
Category: Gen, comedy
Characters: Castiel, OC
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,522
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Castiel buys his first cell phone. From the perspective of the cell store employee.
A/N: Set around the beginning of season 5. The title, of course, comes from S5E4, "The End," in what is (I believe) the first time we see Cas with a cell phone, and he tells Dean that "the voice says I'm almost out of minutes."
Read on AO3
***
It was a Wednesday afternoon. I had four hours left in my shift, and the store was dead. I had already dusted twice and rearranged the new phone displays three times. Every piece of merchandise was in its proper place; everything was perfectly stocked. I was going out of my mind with boredom.
Then, he walked in. Six feet tall with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a trenchcoat over a full suit despite the warm September day.
Usually I hate the weekday shift, but occasionally, it has its perks.
The man paused just a couple steps inside the doorway and looked around, his expression serious and slightly confused. Behind him, my co-worker was trying to come back into the store from her lunch break and had to sidle in through the barely-open door to avoid hitting him with it. He didn’t seem to notice.
I approached him with my best customer service smile, considerably more sincere than usual (well, he was hot).
“Hi there, is there anything I can help you with?” I said brightly.
“Yes,” he said. “I need a cell phone. There are people I have to be able to talk to.”
Odd, but I’d heard odder. “Sure thing!” I said. “What did you have in mind?”
He looked around again, appearing to be at a total loss.
“Did you want to sign up for a plan, or – ”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “I like to have a plan.”
I chuckled dutifully. “Don’t we all! Okay, follow me. I’ll get your information, and then we can pick out a phone for you.”
He followed me to a computer, and I pulled up the new contract form. “Okay. Name?”
“Castiel.”
I blinked, but decided it was a better idea not to comment. “Can you spell that for me?” He did, and I typed it into the computer. “Great. Last name?”
“Oh,” he said. “Um…one minute.” He searched through his pockets before finally pulling out what looked like a driver’s license. He stared at it for a long moment.
“It says ‘Castiel Plant,’” he said finally.
This was getting weirder, but, at least he was polite. I typed in the last name.
“Do you have a land line?”
Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Is that…related somehow to ley lines?”
Oh, boy. “I’m going to mark it down that you have no other phone number,” I said cheerfully. “Can I have your Social?”
“My what?”
“Your…Social Security Number.”
He blinked at me. “How can you place a numerical value on the security level of a society?”
I decided to assume that he was from another country. Perhaps English was his second language, too, although he didn’t have any trace of an accent. “We can skip that one. Address?”
Castiel looked down at the license again. “123 Heaven Boulevard,” he read.
I paused. “May I see your ID?” I asked. He handed it to me, and I examined it. It was a fake. A damn good fake, but a fake nonetheless. I’d had a fake ID in high school, and I knew the signs. I weighed my options. Was he just a really, really clueless criminal? I didn’t really want to be involved in this, but I needed the sale.
I made up my mind and handed his license back to him. “Mr. Plant – ”
“Please,” he interrupted. “Call me Castiel.”
“Castiel,” I said. “May I offer you some advice?”
“I’d appreciate it,” he said, looking relieved.
“I think what you might like is a burner phone.” We were absolutely not supposed to refer to them that way, but I hoped it might help.
It didn’t. He looked more confused. “Why would I burn a phone?” he said. “Or, is it the phone which burns things?”
“Neither,” I said patiently. “It’s just another name for a phone with prepaid minutes. You buy it and it works for as long as your minutes last. When you run out, you can reload, or buy a new phone with more minutes. You don’t have to worry about paying a contract every month.”
Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Please give me a burning phone.”
I deciding not to quibble about vocabulary and led him over to the prepaid phones. There were five different options, and he looked at them anxiously.
“Can I have a minute to decide?” he asked.
“Of course,” I assured him. “Take all the time you need.”
I went back to the computer and pretended to work while watching him out of the corner of my eye. He touched three of the phones in quick succession with a fingertip, shaking his head almost immediately after each one. Then he picked up the last two, which were nearly identical, and for – I shit you not – fifteen minutes, he looked slowly back and forth between them. I finally gave up trying to be subtle and just stared at him, mouth agape. He seemed completely oblivious to my scrutiny, anyway.
“Is he very stoned?” asked my co-worker, who had noticed the proceedings around the seven minute mark and come to watch with me.
“I don’t know what he is,” I replied.
Finally, Castiel put down one of the phones and started to walk towards me. Unfortunately, the phone was a model and was connected by a cord to the display case. His arm jerked back when the cord was fully extended, and he looked at me with a panicky expression.
“Help,” he said. I quickly walked to him, customer service smile back in place.
“You decided? Great! Let me get you one,” I said, gently taking the display phone from his hand. He let it go a little reluctantly.
“I had that one,” he said.
“That’s for display only,” I said. “I’ll get you a new one.” He nodded, but looked disappointed.
I fetched the phone and rang it up. When I told Castiel his total, he began slowly removing a series of twenties from different pockets. The bills were crumpled into individual balls, and he placed them carefully on the counter. He tried to keep going after he’d put enough down, but I stopped him and began smoothing the bills out.
“Do you need some help setting it up?” I asked, after I’d given him his change. It was protocol to ask, but, vaguely unnerving though this encounter had been, I felt bad for Castiel, who seemed very confused by everything that was going on, and I wanted to be sure he had a handle on this. He looked down at the phone and nodded quickly, handing it back to me.
It was only a couple steps to get the phone activated and set up. I gave him a quick tutorial, which – thankfully – he seemed to understand.
“Do you have any numbers you want to save?” I asked.
Castiel’s forehead creased.
“We put them in your address book, and then you can call them up quickly, without having to type in the whole number manually every time,” I explained. I really, really wanted to make sure he could get help if he needed it.
“Yes, that would be good,” he said. He pulled out an old receipt from a diner and handed it to me. On the back, someone had scribbled “Dean” with three numbers under it, and “Sam” with two numbers. Yeah, not weird at all. I programmed the numbers in quickly.
“Okay, now we just need to set up your voicemail.”
“Voicemail?”
“So if you don’t answer your phone, someone can leave you a message,” I said. Jesus, was he from Mars?
“Oh.” He nodded. “Yes.”
I decided not to even ask if he wanted to record a full one, and set up the kind which goes “You have reached the voicemail box of…”
“Now,” I said, turning the phone to speaker. “When it beeps, just say your name.”
The phone beeped. “I don’t understand why,” Castiel said. “Why do you want me to say my name?”
Good enough. Surely anyone who had his number would get the picture. He reached out and pressed a few buttons and I hastily pulled the phone away. I saved the message.
“All set,” I said cheerfully, handing him the phone. “Here you go.”
Castiel looked at the phone, then back at me. “Thank you,” he said gravely. He touched my hand lightly with his fingertips and leaned over the counter towards me, looking deep into my eyes. “The insecurities you feel in your heart at times are unwarranted. You are a kind and beautiful soul.” And, I swear on my life, the dude vanished. Right before my eyes. He didn’t walk out the door, he was just suddenly gone. And I thought I heard the beating of wings.
My co-worker, of course, came out of the back room about two seconds after Castiel’s disappearing act. “Where’s tall, dark, and crazy?” she asked cheerfully.
“Gone,” I mumbled, blinking rapidly. “Also, I might have just had a stroke.”
“Uh…”
I shook my head. “Kidding.” At least, I hoped I was. I grabbed my cigarettes from under the counter. “I’m taking a break.”
I’d earned it.
